


Rainbows on the Walls

by orphan_account



Category: Doraemon (Manga), ドラえもん | Doraemon (Anime 2005)
Genre: Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5564281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suneo could gain the world and all its glory, and never escape the dark disapproval of his father's ice-cold shadow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainbows on the Walls

**Author's Note:**

> I've gotten flak for treating the relationship between Suneo and his father as a mirror of general issues that I've experienced within the family. But, I do have canon evidence I can point out that shows Suneo's problems being ignored by his father. There has also been an occasion on which Mr. Honekawa completely dismissed Suneo's fears and claimed there was something wrong with him (although luckily Mrs. Honekawa came to Suneo's defense). But in short, it's got some instances of canon basis.
> 
> Anyway, there's some touchy content in here. Vibrant emotional abuse, manipulation, and that sort of thing.

It's strange, Suneo thought, how a home one had lived in for half his life could seem this cold and unfamiliar.

He looked up at the crest of the mansion that seemed to poke through the film of slimy green clouds. Long ago, the peaked roof had seemed to scrape the underside of heaven. Now, it bowed forward, swathed in shadow, to stare down in disapproval at whoever dared mount the porch steps.

Suneo's gaze locked on the door. Sunlight angled off the brass knocker in stark white blades. Suneo stared, unfazed. Although he saw the door, he stared far past it, through it, into the memories of the home that he had once loved.

The inviting, gleaming marble kitchen. The burgundy and mahogany parlor. The winding stairs that spiraled to the skylight like the inside of a conch shell. He remembered the thick carpet that was plush and springy beneath his socks, and that one painting of a quaint rolling countryside, framed in a gilded box and hanging on the parlor wall between two brass candleholders. When the sunlight filtered through the shimmery curtains, it cut through the crystal candle globes and split into thousands of pale rainbows. Suneo had spent many idle summer afternoons lounging on the carpet, trying to count every wavering rainbow before drifting asleep with the sun melting over his back as warm and soft as a blanket.

A knot tightened in the back of Suneo's throat. It had been fifteen––no, twenty––twenty years since he had last lain on that cream carpet. Twenty years since he had stared at the rainbow-riddled walls without a single worry weighing like a rock in his chest.

He tightened his fingers around the sticky handle of his briefcase and squeezed until his sweaty hand shook. The loose buckles on the briefcase clinked together like a hushed choir of wind chimes. Suneo stared at the cold, gleaming doorknob.

When had been the last time? On what day had he stood up, rubbing at the sore carpetburns on his elbows, and meandered away to never lay on that carpet to watch rainbows again?

He swallowed. He lifted his arm, uncurled his fingers, and reached for the doorknob. His hand felt as though it weighed a hundred pounds and were cold and useless as a stone. It seemed to take eternity for him to close his hand around the glaring doorknob. The brass was icy cold against his clammy palm. Somehow, the sudden chill jabbed all the way through his arm and into his chest, making his breath hang up in his throat and his back tighten. He twisted his wrist, the door eased open on silent hinges.

Suneo glanced from side to side in furtive caution. Pressing his hand against the doorframe for support, he leaned forward on the tiptoe of his oxfords to peer inside the house.

Nostalgia plowed into him with all the force of a bulldozer. He had to clutch at the frame to keep from sinking into a heap. His knees began to buckle.

All at once, he wished he were a child. A child who had no worries, no concerns apart from toys and games and sundry amusements that mattered nothing in adult life. Suneo swallowed. The longing ached deep in the pit of his heart. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to feel his mother's arms close around him in a flower-scented hug that could melt away the deepest sorrows.

"Mama?" His voice came out in a thin, hoarse whisper, as though he were creeping through an abandoned farmhouse. His weak voice carried through the empty kitchen, shivering off the shiny tiles. When the echo faded, silence fell.

 _Get a hold of yourself, Honekawa,_ Suneo thought in disgust. _You're a grown man. Mama isn't going to kiss away any boo-boos anymore._

With the sarcastic thought spurning him, Suneo opened the door wider and plunged inside. He barely skirted by before the heavy door slammed. The bang resonated through the room and made the glass lanterns sway.

Suneo slung his briefcase onto the table. It skidded over the mahogany top, buckles clacking. He lifted his shoulders and curled his fingers around the side of his jacket to shrug it off out of habit, but stopped himself. Despite this being his home, he felt too uncomfortable to relax and take off his coat.

He stood as awkward and useless as a clod. His arms dangled at his sides, his hands cold under the bulky cuffs of his sleeves. The air smelled sharp and pale around him. Upon noticing, he tipped his head to the side in concentration. Focusing on how the air filtered down his throat and tingled, he sniffed a few times to try finding some sort of comforting scent. But the air was like white noise. Empty.

Every house becomes filled with smells comforting to a family. Suneo's own house smelled of antiseptic cleaning products, floral fabric softener, cinnamon, and rich leather. If one paid close attention on taking measured breaths, he could also detect a trace of dusty woodiness. In contrast, Nobita's house smelled of musty books and mildew patches on the ceiling. Gian's house smelled of dog and chocolate and the starchy water in boiling rice. Every place smelled familiar and warm of family, but this mansion in which Suneo had spent his childhood was empty. The air wafted not a single trace of family or their lifestyles.

Suneo felt as though he were suffocating. His chest ached. He clenched his fists at his sides, and found his fingers so numb that he could barely work them.

 _I . . . I want to go home,_ he realized. It took a moment before he remembered that this was home.

Everything was as still and silent as an ancient tomb.

Just as a jab of panic convinced him to swipe up his briefcase and run, a distant clacking of stilettos against tile made him freeze. Every nerve bundled up in tense knots. A bulge in Suneo's throat clogged his breath and made a chill sweep like an electric jolt through his limbs.

The clicking grew louder. It paused for a second, then resumed. The steps were small; delicate. And in a wreath of perfume haze and starlight spots from sequins, Mama appeared in the doorway.

Her gaze remained on the floor as she slid one thin hand over the wall until her fingers met the light switch. She turned the knob, and cool sea-green light angled from the stained glass lanterns and cut over the floor. Mama looked up. Her eyes were distant and flat. The instant her gaze focused and the clouds scattered, she noticed Suneo, standing there in the corner.

Mama stared. Her hand raised to cup over her mouth, as if to hold back either a gasp or a sob. No sound came. The silence bore down heavy as concrete. Mama's fingers began to tremble. Sparkles glinted in her red nail polish. The shiver drove down her arm, then her shoulders, until her entire frail body began to quake. She dug her nails into the door frame until chips of paint cracked loose.

"Su . . . Susu?"

Her voice was a shadow of a whisper, faint as a ghost. The slightest edge of a squeaky whimper made her voice sound as though it would shatter into sobs at any provocation. Her hand skimmed down her throat, too weak to hold, until it rested on her chest.

All at once, Suneo realized. The scent of Mama's perfume swirled into his head like a cottony pink mist, soft and light and clean and breezy and _hers._ It smelled of dewy rose petals in April, and freshly washed linen, and tart oranges. It chased away the impersonal, generic flatness in the air.

Before Suneo could bite his tongue, his eyes flooded until he could see nothing but a swamp of blurred pastels smudged by sequins. Somehow, he felt more ridiculous than ever, and all at once like a child. Not caring that he was grown, or expected to retain composure, or foolish to cry, he stepped forward in a few scuffing paces. His knees gave way, and he fell against Mama to knock her backwards. She clutched at the wall to remain upright and sucked in a sudden breath.

Suneo pressed his face into her shoulder, rubbing his nose into the puffed sleeve of her silk blouse, breathing in her perfume. He slid his arms around her waist and locked them tight, half expecting someone to tug her away. When he pushed his fists against the slope of her back to keep her in the hug, he froze. He stared at the wall, far beyond the lavender sprig pattern of wallpaper. Mama's heartbeat throbbed in his ear. Her knobby breastbone was hard against his cheek.

Mama felt like a splinter against him. Tiny. Thin. A sliver of what he remembered her as. Her arms felt feather-light as they enclosed him. Suneo's heart went solid and cold behind his ribs.

Blue veins crisscrossed and overlapped like lines on a roadmap in Mama's hands. Her fingers were almost fleshless. When Suneo stiffened his arms around her, her ribcage creaked. Suneo went rigid. Angry tears turned his eyes into puddles.

He felt as though if he clutched Mama closer, she would break. Even now, her breaths were quivery and shallow as she smoothed her fingers through Suneo's hair. He swallowed, and squeezed his eyes shut to numb himself as he drew back. Mama's hands slid from his hair and remained suspended in the air, curled lightly. She watched him. Her wet, red-rimmed eyes turned into shimmering squints.

Long ago, Suneo could plow into Mama's knees and bury his face in her middle and cry until she lifted him into a hug from which even a bear could not have pried him. She had always been lithe but solid, with dainty hands that could knot into a fist to shatter jaws. Suneo had always known Mama as strong and unbreakable. He remembered looking up at her so often in admiration, at her glittering eyes that shone from beneath her puff of red curls, and being unable to resist smiling back. She had seemed tall and powerful then, yet still warm and reassuring.

But now, she was little more than the weak shadow that had lain under the heels of Mama from years ago. She was a rack of bones over which pale skin stretched. Her hair was no longer the spongy puff of cloudlike curls, but dull and paled by gray. The smug smile that always pinched her eyes into slits was gone, replaced by a flat line that barely touched her lips. Her shoulders drooped, crushed under an invisible weight that even made her knees bend.

And Suneo couldn't clutch at her in a raw need for comfort, the helpless longing for a mother's embrace. He needed to have her arms encircle him and feel safe, to know not even the most oppressing worries of adulthood could bother him as long as she were near. But Mama was thin and stooped and weak and _old._ Suneo feared the intensity of his emotion itself could snap her as if she were a bristle.

A barrier clanged between them. The force was so sudden that Suneo dodged back a few steps, holding his hands in front of him. Mama lowered her arms until they dangled at her sides. The bangle bracelets on her wrists slid down and jangled.

"It's . . . " Mama swallowed. Her voice grated under tears. "Oh, darling. It's been so––so long since I last saw you. I can't remember when you last visited."

That one simple, pained observation drove guilt like a stake into Suneo's heart. His throat closed up. His eyes burned under the film of scorching tears. Valid excuses fled away like startled birds, leaving his mind empty. How could he explain away his worries of visiting his own parents?

Mama must have construed his silence as stubborn indignation. She folded her fragile arms against her chest, curled her fingers over her sharp elbows, and glanced away. She dug her teeth into her lip, chewing, until her lipstick smudged. The quiet weighed down, as suffocating and dark as city smog.

"Mama's missed you, dear." She swallowed. "Every day. Things are so . . . have been so different since you left."

Suneo ducked his head and swiped the front of his wrist over his eyes. He struggled to keep his voice deep and steady when he whispered, "I'm sorry, Mama." At the moment, he had no excuses. No words of ammunition with which to argue or retort. All he could manage was a miserable, strained whisper of an apology. It ached from the pit of his stomach.

Mama's soaked gaze swung to rest on him. Her eyebrows angled downward until the wrinkles between her eyes deepened to trenches.

"Oh, sweetheart. Don't cry. Mama doesn't like to see you cry––"

The croon in her voice brought memories piling on Suneo that he couldn't bear. The tender pet names that she still felt loving enough to use, despite Suneo's age, made Suneo feel like a child all over again. It both embarrassed and comforted him. Despite the overwhelming flood of change, Mama's love was constant as it had always been.

Suneo shoved the heel of his hand against his eyes and sucked in a deep breath that hissed through his teeth and trembled in a snot-choked whimper. Tears burned and melted through his lashes and smeared hot against his hand. He slouched, and pressed his other hand over his mouth to seal in the sobs that shook his shoulders.

In an instant, the frail arms wrapped around him again. Mama pulled him closer to envelop him in her warm embrace and familiar pleasant scent. She pushed his head against her shoulder and buried her fingers into his hair. Desperation made her squeeze him tight as if somehow she could crush the sadness away. And while she smoothed his gel-stiffened hair, she swayed him in the gentlest arcs from side to side.

"Mama's here, darling," she murmured against the top of his head. "Everything's okay."

Suneo wished he could believe her. He shut his eyes and pressed his cheek against her shoulder. Her hair tickled his face, and suddenly he was hit by a distinct childhood memory. Many times he had pretended to fall asleep just so Mama would scoop him up and carry him to bed. He remembered the many times he had leaned his head on her shoulder, his nose in her curls, and try to keep his breathing in the steady rhythm of one asleep.

Things had been so easy then.

He was exhausted. His head ached and his eyes felt like golf balls plugged into the sockets. A drowsy fog filled his head, numbing his senses. He wished he could fall asleep in Mama's arms like he had so long ago. He let his eyes droop shut as Mama ducked her head to press a kiss against his tufted bangs.

He was an adult. But he didn't care. He nudged his nose deeper into her shoulder and sighed. The stored tension of years and years faded with that one long, relaxed, calm breath.

Mama held him for a while longer before giving his back a gentle pat. Reluctantly, Suneo eased back and straightened until his half-shut eyes met Mama's. Her face wasn't even touched by the loving smile that Suneo expected to see. He snapped away, recoiling as if bitten.

Mama's face was like a mask. Flat. Expressionless. Her eyes seemed hollow, but pinched by wrinkles that lent a sense of withheld fear.

Suneo's tongue went dry as cardboard. "M––Mama? What's––"

Stiffly, Mama slid her hands down his arms. Once her fingers brushed his cuffs, Suneo unfurled his hands until Mama's slipped down to rest in them. Her skin was cold. She didn't hold his hands or even return the gentle squeezing pressure. Her hands were as limp and lifeless as a doll's. The warmth in her motherly touch was gone, in the same abrupt transition of summer to an icy winter.

"Suneo," Mama said. She said his name as though it were that of a stranger's and meant nothing. The flatness in her face remained. "Your father has been wanting to see you."

"Father wants to see me? He _wants_ to see me?" Suneo clutched Mama's hands on impulse. His breath hitched in his throat. It made his voice a pitch higher than usual, but at the moment, he didn't care. All at once, Mama's sudden deadened mood was of no concern to Suneo.

A giddy grin peeled across his face. He ducked his head to hide it, feeling silly. The brooding clouds from just minutes ago scattered, and now sunlight warm and vibrant filtered in. Had Mama been less intense, Suneo would have gripped her hands and laughed aloud with excitement.

"Did he really say that?" he asked. "He actually told you that he's been wanting to see me?"

Suneo hardly dared hope it were true. His father had always been a cold, stern type who considered showy affection a vice. Suneo had tried to convince himself throughout the years that it was only stress of owning a business that made his father standoffish. The heavy responsibility weighed down on a person. Suneo knew from experience. But despite how he struggled to assure himself otherwise, Suneo knew that he had never been any strong target of his father's affection.

It had been something out of reach his entire life. Mama loved him, but there remained a part of Suneo's heart that was empty without attention from his father. Throughout his life, Suneo had held close a hope that thrived, like a burning coal, in his heart. A hope about which he told no one else. A hope that drove him out of bed when he was exhausted. One that made him smile at others when he felt like lunging for the nearest throat. One that spurred him out of his weakest moments.

He often told himself that he wouldn't be happy until he finally felt his father's arms around him and heard the soft murmur of an "I love you."

The mere idea of the simple affection made heat prickle Suneo's cheeks in a blush. He hardly dared anticipate any fatherly warmth, but he found himself growing fidgety with excitement, almost expecting to walk into his father's embrace as soon as he turned around. His grin widened until it could have cracked his face.

"I'll go see him," Suneo said, struggling to keep his voice even. The instant he turned away, he let his smile slide over his face again until it squinted his eyes. His heart fluttered against his ribs in coy little beats that jostled his breath from his throat and made his blush deepen.

He hooked a turn down the miles-long hall, keeping his gaze fixed on the cream carpet. His shadow sifted beneath him, blurring the pale orange light that melted from the glass torches. Had Suneo not been faint with excitement, the atmosphere would have seemed eerie. The hall surrounded him, the walls seeming to bow around him. His shadow sliced over the walls, oozing downward like spilled ink. Each of his footsteps creaked and echoed down the corridor.

Suneo felt as though he would suffocate before he reached his father's office. The air was stale without the smell of Mama's perfume. He toyed with his bow tie to occupy his shaking hands.

The closer Suneo came to the end of the hall, the chillier and sharper the air became, as though bristling with millions of icy needles. By the time Suneo halted and dug his heels into the carpet in front of the closed office door, the air was frigid and bitter like a harsh winter. Suneo swallowed. His grin went lopsided, hung there, then faded.

He stared at the massive mahogany door before him. The brass plate glinted off the light from the torches and illuminated the gilded letters: "HONEKAWA PRIVATE BUSINESS." Suneo dropped his gaze, unable to keep his eyes on the plaque. His fingers uncurled from his sweaty fist and wrapped around the doorknob. With a quick little intake of breath, Suneo tapped the knuckles of his other hand against the door.

Something rustled from inside the room, like a sheaf of papers. The strip of light that glowed at the bottom of the door wavered under a moving shadow.

A throat cleared with a raspy hum. The wheels of a desk chair scraped. "Come in."

Mr. Honekawa's voice was just as Suneo remembered it. Strident. Firm. Not allowing for any disagreement or retort. He sounded curt. Miffed, as if upset he had been disturbed.

Suneo clenched his teeth. Regret drove into his stomach, making it churn. He wished he could run, to tear up the hall before Mr. Honekawa opened the door to see him standing there, shrunk back in a frightened heap.

He shook his head with a jerk to clear the haze of panic that clouded his mind. _No. No, I can't run. I've run enough. Maybe he's not even upset. Maybe he's only busy, but he still wants to see me. Maybe . . . maybe . . ._

Refusing himself time to berate himself or lose confidence, Suneo raised his head in a show of pride. He sucked in a deep breath to inflate his chest, and twisted the doorknob. The click sounded like an explosion.

A mosaic of soft light poured from the office from the stained glass lamp. Suneo blinked. Hesitantly, he eased the door open. The hinges creaked. Suneo shut his eyes for the briefest instant before leaning in.

"Father . . . ?"

Mr. Honekawa sat at his desk. His elbows rested on the edge of the desk. He pressed his fingers together and splayed them in a steeple over which his dark eyes watched Suneo. His gaze pinned Suneo for an endless minute. It swept up and down, side to side––surveying every inch of Suneo in critical silence.

Suneo felt his throat closing up. He dared not breathe while under inspection. He became acutely aware of his every flaw. Each tiny wrinkle in his suit felt magnified. The strands of hair that had been ruffled under Mama's caresses made his scalp tingle.

Finally, Mr. Honekawa dipped his head in a curt nod, as if granting Suneo permission to advance. Suneo glanced about before skimming inside. He stood awkwardly. The door slammed behind him. The lights swayed. Startled, Suneo stumbled forward a step, before catching himself and regaining his balance. His face burned under the disapproving stare of Mr. Honekawa.

Mr. Honekawa blew a brittle sigh through his nose, as if willing to start over.

"Your mother told me you planned to visit sometime this year."

The sentence hung. Suneo felt pressured to respond.

"Ah––yes, sir. I wanted to try making the trip in February, but I––"

Mr. Honekawa stared. Suneo snapped his teeth shut around the explanation. With another sigh, Mr. Honekawa reached forward to lift a stack of papers from his desk. He began riffling through them.

"I hadn't expected you to drop in with no immediate warning," he said, musing. He looked up, and his eyes pierced Suneo. "I suppose times have changed, but when I was younger that would be considered poor manners. Especially for a Honekawa."

Suneo's hands went numb. He jerked them behind his back to squeeze his fingers together. He felt as though there were steel bands around his ribs, keeping him from drawing a breath.

"I––I––I only wanted it to be a surprise . . . "

Mr. Honekawa hummed in reply. He licked his thumb and eased a sheet of paper from the stack. He examined the page in intense silent concentration. Had one observed, he would have guessed that Mr. Honekawa were the only one in the room.

Suneo's pulse throbbed in his temples. The pounding deafened him. He clutched his fists behind his back, shoving them into the curve of his spine. He pressed the fingers of one hand into his other wrist, digging in his nails until fireworks of pain exploded under his skin.

"Well?" Mr. Honekawa's quiet, measured voice broke the silence. "You came to visit, yes? Tell me what's been going on. Your poor mother and I fret constantly over you. If only you could spare time to give us a call every once in a while, you could save us a lot of worrying. Why, we barely know a thing about the past five years for you. Tell your father how things have been."

At the subtle encouragement, Suneo glanced up. His plastic smile wobbled. Mr. Honekawa nodded.

"I . . . things have been––good."

His mind was clogged. Nothing further could come. Suneo felt as though he were kneeling before a judge's bench on trial. He could think of nothing to say.

Mr. Honekawa's eyebrow arched up his creased forehead.

"Don't stammer so. Talk to me. How is work going?"

Suneo swallowed. A faint flame of courage warmed him. He drew himself up to full height, tilting back his head in preparation for his speech: the one he had recited to himself over and over again, impressed every time by his own success.

"Business is going well, sir. There's nearly a thousand employees under me, and we're expanding further every day. There are eighteen stores in my chain just in Tokyo. At my last meeting, we projected a business growth rate of a hundred per cent within the next five years."

His voice rose in a shimmery echo to the ceiling. His smile remained frozen in place.

"Just one hundred?" Mr. Honekawa cracked the stack of papers against the desk to even its edges. He shook his head.

"When I started the business, we had growth double that, and that was years ago." Mr. Honekawa sniffed. "I'm surprised yours isn't doing better. You'd think a business established in Tokyo would boom."

Suneo's smile faded. His gaze lingered on Mr. Honekawa for an instant before lowering to the floor. The flicker of pride and hope that had spurned him on extinguished like the flame of a candle in a breeze.

"Oh, Suneo." Mr. Honekawa's voice thinned under a weary sigh. "Don't sulk. It's unbecoming. Work will start picking up for you soon. As long as you try your best, I'm sure you'll be successful. You are a Honekawa, after all. It's practically impossible for you to fail in business. It's in your blood. You only have to take advantage of it."

"Yes, sir," Suneo said unhappily. He rubbed his thumbs together behind his back. "Of course. I'll try harder, sir."

Miffed by Suneo's subdued response, Mr. Honekawa shifted in his seat. He leaned back. The chair squeaked.

"Tell me how your family has been. It's fared better than your business, I assume?" Mr. Honekawa gave a sudden quiet laugh of appreciation before he added, "I admit the first time I saw that little wife of yours, I was impressed. That's one way you take after me; you have remarkable taste in helpmeets. If I recall, you told us that she tends the home well? Just like your mother. That's a burden off my shoulders, knowing that you have someone who can keep everything together. How is she doing?"

Suneo whipped his head to the side so fast that sparks of color erupted behind his closed eyelids. He waited for the dizziness to dissipate. Finally, he forced past his clenched teeth: "She's well, I think." He paused. "Thank you."

Mr. Honekawa gave Suneo a look that spelled only mild confusion. "What do you mean, 'you think'? Are you not sure?"

He folded his arms over his chest and crossed his legs so that his foot balanced on his other knee. With an air of complacency, he said, "I thought for certain you would be far more involved in your family life."

Suneo bristled like a cat backed into a corner. He dug his hands into his pockets to hide how they shook.

Mistaking Suneo's silence for stubbornness, Mr. Honekawa heaved a long sigh. He slid his fingers beneath his elbows and leaned back further.

"Suneo, work is most assuredly important, the most important thing a man can do. But you can't always sacrifice family in favor of work. If you do that, your family will fall apart. Why, if I had chosen my job over you and your mother, heaven knows where you'd be now. That's what will always send a family to ruin. But of course, you already know this."

The whole time Mr. Honekawa had been talking, Suneo scrunched lower and lower into a slouch of shamefaced embarrassment. He clenched his teeth until his jaw ached and squeezed his fists inside his pockets. He felt as though the air were a sludge that was impossible to breathe.

Mr. Honekawa cleared his throat. "Suneo."

Suneo raised his head, but found that glancing at Mr. Honekawa's stern face made his veins go taut and icy. He locked his elbows against his sides to keep from shivering inside his blazer.

"As I was saying," Mr. Honekawa continued, "it is imperative that you be more attentive to your family. I fully expect to hear a report on them. I'm a father-in-law and a grandfather; I have the right to know how my extended family has been in these years we've had no contact."

He leaned to one side and fumbled in the pocket of his jacket until he withdrew his cellphone. With a pointed look at Suneo, he extended the phone toward him.

"Call them."

Suneo stared down at the phone as though it were a tarantula. Light from the chandeliers winked in sparkles off the edges, cheerful in contrast to the panic that crushed Suneo's heart.

"Suneo," Mr. Honekawa said. "Call your wife. If I can't hear about your family from you, I want to speak to her myself. I want her to tell me how she and the boy have been, seeing as you have no clue."

Suneo's pulse throbbed in his head, pounding deep in his ears. His eyes squinted into puddles.

"I––I can't."

Mr. Honekawa's fingers flexed around the phone. His jaw shifted. "I beg your pardon?"

"I can't call her," Suneo said. His voice teetered on the hoarse edge of a whisper. When his only reply was Mr. Honekawa's cold gaze, he swallowed. "I . . . haven't gotten her new number."

Mr. Honekawa's short bark of a laugh made Suneo jolt. "New number? What on earth do you mean?"

For some reason, that humorless laugh made indignation rove under Suneo's skin like an electric shock. He tried to breathe, yet somehow felt as though he were drowning. His hands were numb.

When Mr. Honekawa's brittle laughter began to cease, Suneo looked up.

"We're divorced, Father."

The words fell with the force of a nuclear bomb. Mr. Honekawa went as silent as a graveyard at midnight. He and Suneo stared at each other for what seemed like centuries. Wrinkles clumped between Mr. Honekawa's eyes to pinch them into slits.

"Surely"––he coughed to deepen his voice––"surely you're not serious."

Somehow, a deadened sense of bitter satisfaction festered in Suneo's heart at seeing his father's composure slip. Mr. Honekawa seldom lost control or hold on the mask of flat calculation he wore. He was cardboard, almost mechanical. But when light bled into his eyes, Suneo found a morbid temptation in prodding further.

"We divorced a year ago. I haven't heard from her in months. The last I saw of her was when she threw the suitcases in her car and slammed the door behind her." He couldn't stop the sardonic laugh that shot out, followed by more and more until his shoulders shook. He folded his arms over his middle and bent over, unable to withhold the laughter that ached in his stomach. "Not exactly the situation I wanted to hear her scream my name in, right?"

Mr. Honekawa sat in his chair like a clod. For the first time Suneo had ever seen, his father had no idea what to say.

Gradually, Mr. Honekawa straightened. He smoothed his thumbs down his lapels, but Suneo caught how his fingers quivered.

"I . . . This is news to me."

"Oh, yeah," Suneo said. The bitter yet relieving laughter had bounced all the tension from his body. He felt deliciously numb. He traced along his eyelid to smear away the tears and said, "Old news, you know? It never was a grand priority of magazine articles to talk about. As far as I can tell, nobody was too impressed by our marriage anyway. Those slobbering stringy-haired secretaries were hoping I'd be married off to some top-heavy supermodel with pockets as deep as the Mariana Trench. I guess a chatty small-town bumpkin didn't exactly match that description."

Mr. Honekawa remained in stunned silence for a long time. With each passing second, Suneo's smile widened. All his panic and discomfort had fled away. He felt nothing. Nothing. Nothing—except an almost brutal desire to push a little farther.

"And of course, she left our son with me. It's a chore juggling business and trips and meetings and having to take care of a child on top of that, but I manage well." Suneo casually rested his weight on one foot and raised his hand to examine his ring. "Even though it's not easy to deal with insensitive dolts who pry about me having a child in a special education curriculum."

At this, Mr. Honekawa jerked up his head. The chair squeaked. "Excuse me?"

Suneo felt his smile creep across his face. He slid his hand down his side and tucked it back into his pocket. As though he were discussing the weather, he said, "Oh, you didn't know? I thought for certain I told Mama the day we found out."

"Found out what?" Mr. Honekawa almost spat the words. Any other time they would have stung like acid, but Mr. Honekawa was crumbling. Now those words were desperate. Disbelieving.

Suneo watched his father struggle against his own turmoil of emotions. Mr. Honekawa gripped the armrests of his chair as though he would crush them.

"Why, Father. He's autistic—there's no need to work yourself up into cardiac arrest."

Mr. Honekawa sat. He squinted through his glasses at Suneo as though he were seeing him for the first time.

"I . . . I had no idea. Well." Recovering, Mr. Honekawa nonchalantly straightened and began to adjust his tie. Every motion was slow. Deliberate.

"When I saw him, he seemed healthy and fine. Just the way every Honekawa has been. But hearing that, I'm not surprised you haven't wanted to visit, or bring your family. First a deficient child, then a divorce?"

He gave one of those little puffy chuckles that are often accompanied by a pitying shake of the head.

"It's no wonder at all that you've wanted to stay hidden away from us for so long. Dodging the presses to keep your affairs out of the papers. It all falls into place. It wasn't ever rebellion, was it, dear boy? It was shame. Wasn't it? Go on. Tell your father what it was."

The roles had once again reversed. Any edge, any advantage Suneo had had shifted back to Mr. Honekawa tenfold. The pride in having caught his father off-guard vanished. Embarrassment and humiliation felt like a hand that wrapped around Suneo's throat, crushing his windpipe and holding back his breath. His face burned, and all at once he regretted even the minor notion of sauciness. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Well?" Mr. Honekawa's voice was steely, but Suneo could hear the caustic smile in his tone. "Say it. Say exactly what it was."

"It . . . it wasn't shame." Suneo almost choked on the words that clumped up in his chest, and they came out as a thread of a whisper.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It wasn't shame!" Suneo clutched his fists at his sides and tightened his shoulders. "I wasn't—I'm not ashamed of them. My wife was my pride. My son is. Not my shame. They're _not_."

"What was it, then? Fear? Cowardice? Are you afraid to visit the parents who gave you everything? Or perhaps it's greed. Too selfish to take any time off from your life to give some back to your parents. Is that it? Did we raise a self-absorbed, selfish son?"

Frustration mounted in hard pieces that weighed down Suneo's stomach like bricks. His head pounded and his muscles ached and his fingers were cold and numb and all he wanted to do was _leave,_ to go home and crawl into his own bed and sleep until every memory of this had melted away—

To his horror, he felt his eyes begin to flood. They stung. Water brimmed. Suneo kept his eyes locked on the carpet. It faded into a blur. The Moroccan pattern swirled together.

_No. No, no, no, no, no . . ._

To cry in front of Mr. Honekawa would be to announce that Suneo had not an iota of testosterone in his body. Doing so would be as condemning as a death sentence. Suneo snuffled and reached up as quickly as he could to swipe his hand over his face, pretending to brush away his bangs.

"Of course it was cowardice." Mr. Honekawa sounded as satisfied as cat full of cream. When he settled back into his chair, it creaked. "You were too afraid to let your mother and I know, weren't you? Too afraid to come and bring along the grandchild we've hoped for, after you found out something was wrong with him?"

He laughed in a quiet way that chilled Suneo's bones. "I should have expected that the first deficient Honekawa would be a product from you. You never were exactly . . . stable as a boy yourself. Ah, well. It's only natural that you'd pass along any defective genes. It's a fact of life. It's a pity though that your child will have to live with having something wrong with him. There's so many responsibilities a Honekawa has to keep up the name, and there's no expecting him to fulfill any of those with that condition. Ah, well. I assume your brother's sons will—"

"There is nothing wrong with him," Suneo said through gritted teeth. He clenched them so tightly that any more pressure would have cracked his jaw. His fists vibrated with a rage that he was losing control over. With eyes that were puddles of hot tears, he glared at his father until his image blurred into a smear.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with him!"

Suneo didn't realize how loudly he had shouted until he registered the shock on his father's face. His voice echoed in the room like a cry in an empty cave. Finally, the last shuddery echo shimmered up to the ceiling and faded.

He was drained. Defeated. Suneo slumped forward, his shoulders sagging. With his final mite of will, he said, his voice tired and husky: "There's . . . nothing wrong with my son."

Mr. Honekawa watched him for a long time. Light glared off his spectacles, cold and stark. A smile curved his mustache and made the wrinkles around his mouth deepen. As though everything were entirely calm and normal, he reached over his desk to retrieve his pack of papers.

"I wish I could say the exact same thing."

Suneo stared at his smile. It was like that of a snake. Cunning and sly without the slightest trace of affection. Dangerous. Poison inside. Mr. Honekawa's words played on endless loop through Suneo's mind. Each repeat sent a stab of pain deeper into Suneo's ribs. It dawned on him, like a cold winter sunrise, that everything he had hoped for was farther away than ever before.

He wouldn't ever hear those sought-after compliments or praises from his father. He wouldn't ever hear that expression of love. Even if somehow he ever did, it would be tainted and lifeless, all the meaning sapped by everything Mr. Honekawa had said today.

It was just as well. He didn't want to hear them anyway.

He realized that he no longer was swallowing back the urge to cry. It was gone. He was numb. He knew then that he could have crumpled to his knees and felt no regret.

Nothing wrong with him? He wished he could say the same thing, too.

"Goodbye, Father," he said without looking up. It felt as though a clump of needles were behind his tongue. He swallowed. "Thank you for the visit."

Somehow, he wasn't sure if he had spoken the words, or only thought them. They didn't linger. Mr. Honekawa only sniffed and riffled through his papers.

Suneo turned away. Nothing had ever been as far away as the door. By the time he stepped outside and closed the door behind him, he vaguely wondered how he hadn't suffocated. He leaned against it before his legs gave way, and shut his eyes. A kaleidoscope of colors swirled in the blackness. He tipped his head back to breathe.

The air was so empty in the dark hall. Not even a speck of dust gave it substance. The staleness made his stomach churn. He missed the warmth and brightness and comforting smells of his own home. This wasn't home. It never would be.

It didn't matter how many times he had counted rainbows on these walls in the summer. There were no rainbows now. There hadn't been for years. All the rainbows were on the walls of his own home now.

He let go of the doorknob and walked down the cold gray hall.


End file.
